Shattered Form
by Mightily Mousey
Summary: His body was broken, but his mind kept going. Shattered Glass-verse, Megatron, ?


Title: Shattered Form

Author: SBX

Characters: Megatron, ?????

Pairings: none

Rating: PG-13 for semi graphic imagery

Warnings: implications that torture had taken place in the past.

Disclaimer: No character used in this story belongs to me.

Summary: His body was broken, but his mind kept going

A/N: This was born from me thinking about the absence of two certain characters during the Shattered Glass comic. This is my answer to why they were.

_ooooo_

It was a throne of sorts. It was even set atop a large dais. Or it would be a throne if not for the restraints that kept its sitter stationary and unmoving. The mech being held captive was barely recognizable as a mech. Wires and cables going to and from the mech nearly obscured him from view, panels, ports, and even his ember exposed and vulnerable.

The mech was rendered blind and deaf by a helmet that covered and isolated his optic and audio sensors. He had been rendered dumb by the welding of his lip components closed. The remains of once grand and dignified sensor panels were barely visible behind him, twisted and shattered into disuse. In spite of all of this the feeling that the mech has watching, analyzing and judging everybody who came before him would not go away.

The only signs that the mech still lived were the medical equipment that monitored and maintained his systems. The only things keeping him alive were those machines.

In spite of all this Megatron looked upon this broken, pitiful Autobot trapped within an empty existence - a genius mind made a slave to the Prime's sick whims – the Decepticon leader got the feeling that the mech was watching him, staring into his very ember and analyzing all his strengths and weaknesses. He shuddered, horror, disgust, and pity warring within him against the practical understanding of _why._

This mech was a danger to the Prime. He knew Prime intimately, how to hurt him in every way that mattered. This mech could destroy the Autobot leader with no effort at all. And yet Prime needed him, needed his tactical abilities and inbuilt ability to understand people and situations instantly. The set up kept the mech subdued but still useful.

That didn't make this right though and Megatron could not in good conscious leave him in such a pathetic state. He approached the throne turned prison cautiously, careful that he didn't trip a hidden security system. He ascended the dais watching for any reaction at all.

The acknowledgment of his presence didn't come until he called the mech's name softly, certain that he would be heard in spite of the sensory deprivation. A holo-screen appeared between them, equally as tall as Megatron himself. The mech standing to attention on the screen was a stark contrast to the pathetic creature sitting in the throne.

Black and white plating was undamaged and pristine. Sensor panels swept back, graceful and whole. To Megatron's surprise, in disregard to the Autobot insignia branded on the mech's chest, a pair of blue optics stared out from under a bright red chevron, a sign of purity on a being that had been corrupted by the Prime's hatred.

It was unnerving seeing the individual that the mech use to be superimposed over the wreck he is now, and Megatron faltered, wondered if saving this mech was possible, if maybe it would be more merciful to end his existence and save him any further suffering. But no, he had been called here to help this mech, and the quiet, but fiercely protective Autobot medic watching from the edges of the room would not allow it anyway.

Megatron spoke again, forcing all his doubts and nervousness back in order to sound calm and collected. "Hello, Prowl," he greeted, if only for the formality of it.

Prowl stared at him coolly, and there was that feeling of ones ember being probed. Apparently he approved of whatever he saw because the holo-image smiled, slow as a glacier and equally as cold.

"Hello, Megatron. I've been waiting for you."


End file.
